


Analysis

by Michelle Christian (movies_michelle)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:50:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/movies_michelle/pseuds/Michelle%20Christian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every situation is an opportunity for observation and deduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Analysis

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Miss Pamela for the quick beta.

Sherlock touched his lips gently to John's left cheekbone.

_Salt. Sweat from the day and the run they'd had earlier. Faint smell of perfume—had he been kissing a woman? Perfume more floral than fashionable, old fashioned. Faint taste of lipstick. Conclusion: kissed on the cheek, probably in thanks for assistance, by a middle-aged woman, most likely a patient._

He moved down to John's mouth.

_Toothpaste—John always brushed his teeth before bed, always, as if tooth decay was just waiting to invade. Fried fish—Sherlock would have to remember to tell him not to go back to that shop, their fish was just a bit off. Tea. John._

One of them moaned. Sherlock wasn't sure whom, but he dismissed it as unimportant—it did not sound like distress—and moved down to John's neck. He ran his fingers down to John's shoulder, his mouth following.

_Bullet wound—old. Raised scar. It had been a serious, and treated not particularly well. Possibly thorough medical attention not given right away._

(John didn't talk about the war, and Sherlock didn't ask. Sherlock had hacked into the official reports, and what John's body didn't tell him, his reactions to things did. Leave it to John's therapist to torture him for vocalized details; Sherlock had other, gentler ways of procuring the necessary data.)

He didn't spend a lot of time on John's wound—John became restless if more than a second or two was spent near it—and he moved down John's chest. Some hair, but not a lot, certainly not enough to distract from the touch and taste of skin (Sherlock hated hair in his teeth).

_Nipples. Sensitive, but not overly. Preferred licking to hard sucking. Right one slightly more sensitive than the left. Quick pinch-twist movement normally provided positive results._

John was saying something, hand on the back of Sherlock's head, but he wasn't pushing him away, so...

"Busy," he mumbled into John's ribs, his hands wrapping around John's torso and pulling him closer. (_Another gunshot wound—from case last year. Not serious; glanced off a rib. Sherlock sucked at the scar viciously in retribution, pleased by the moan, again not of distress. Conclusion: no longer hurt._) He made his way to John's bellybutton (_Slightly ticklish. Dangerous to touch except when John was very aroused. Conclusion: safe now._) John's erection was now laying under his chin, throbbing against his throat, but Sherlock ignored it, as well, and made his way to John's right hip.

_Knife wound. Deep, though not debilitating. Approximately five years old. Made by a broad, flat blade. Not a khyber; closer to British military issue. John would not talk about it. Conclusion: psychosomatic limp only partly so. Need more data._

John's legs were hairier than his chest, so Sherlock lifted his face, and skimmed his hands down John's calves. (_Evidence of breakage of left tibia as a child. Most likely fall of bicycle. Slightly swollen tissue around right ankle—twisted last month chasing suspect. Conclusion: must make sure he stays off his feet when he gets hurt in future. John cannot care for himself._)

John lifted his head. "Are you done yet?" (_Voice shows signs of irritation, arousal, and amusement._) "Because I must point out that you missed a spot." He thrust his hips up, his erection bobbing.

"More than one," Sherlock agreed and flipped John over.

John grumbled something about high-handed bastard geniuses, but as it was nothing Sherlock hadn't heard before, he ignored that to concentrate on John's legs. They were not particularly long; John's length was more in his torso, which was powerful (_indicative of time spent at a gym; John liked to go when they were in funds_).

Sherlock straddled John's legs, then bent down to bite at John's right ass cheek. John, predictably, bucked and yelled.

"Quiet," he mumbled into the pale flesh. "Mrs. Hudson."

John said something rude about Mrs. Hudson, and something ruder about Sherlock. Sherlock pressed his grin into John's ass.

_Salt. Musk. Soap. John hadn't just cleaned his teeth in the bathroom earlier. Tightly muscled; evidence of regular running. Conclusion: limp, psychosomatic and otherwise, not impeding performance._

Sherlock was using his teeth more now; John groaned loudly, pressing back into them.

_Left shoulder blade: burn scar. Localized. Conclusion: briefly captured, tortured; rescued quickly. _ (John would let him touch, but only him. He never put his mouth there when John was awake.)

_Right shoulder blade: small tattoo. Heart. John said he got it for a girlfriend who thought it was sexy when he was 16. Conclusion: teenagers are stupid._ (Sherlock kissed him there all the time.)

Sherlock laid across his back, nose in John's hair and breathed deeply before going down into John's neck. He rubbed his own cock against John's ass more for the sounds John made than his own sensations.

_Cigarette smoke, same as on clothes. John did not smoke. Conclusion: John had been at the gaming hall again._ (Not a problem at the moment, no matter what he lost. He always went more after finding Sherlock high on more than adrenaline. Sherlock decided he needed to cut back or get better at hiding. Both seemed equally likely, but not what he wanted to think about now.)

"Fuck it," John said, and Sherlock found himself flipped onto his own back. (Slow. Sherlock expected John's patience to have run out at least seven minutes before now. Must adjust equations.)

"If you're not too busy," John said in a terrible imitation of casual peevishness, straddling Sherlock's torso and wagging his erection around, "would you mind getting back to the sex portion of the evening?"

Sherlock smiled up at him, in a way he knew made John mad (in several senses of the word), and said, "If you insist." Then he slid ('slithered' John called it imprecisely; slithering required far more side-to-side motion, as he'd pointed out repeatedly) down and took John's erection in his mouth as far as it would go.

He loved this more than anything. So much to experience. So much information.

_John groaned above him, one arm outstretched, hand braced on the wall. Straining not to thrust too deep. Taste, feel, hear. Moans. Salt. Viscous. Sweat. Semen. Trace of urine. Musk. John. Johnjohnjohnjohnjohnjohn._

John lasted exactly 5.6 minutes before orgasming. Right as Sherlock had predicted. He smiled to himself around John's twitching organ.

Afterward, Sherlock helped ease John down, licking again at various patches of skin within reach (the taste of John's semen was still thick on the back of his tongue, so no new data could be taken, but he did it anyway), arranging him until they were both lying flat on the bed, John panting beside him. Sherlock pressed his knee against John's calf.

Several minutes passed. John turned onto his side and ran a hand up Sherlock's body. Sherlock tried not to flinch away; he didn't like to be touched, though he allowed it to John. His own arousal was more annoying distraction than anything, something he would deal with perfunctorily, if John let him.

John hadn't yet let him.

"You are utterly mad, you know that?" John said with affection. (Sherlock thought so, but it was definitely not his area of expertise.)

"I assume that's a rhetorical question," Sherlock returned, looking up at him. Sherlock wish he could separate out everything in John's look.

"Why don't you let me touch you back when you do that?" he asked not for the first time.

Sherlock waved it away, not for the first time. (He hated repeating himself, but he had learned that compromise was part of this relationship bit, and if it made John let him keep touching him, he'd put up with it.) "Immaterial. There's no data to be gleaned from _you_ touching _me_," he explained.

John snorted. "I think you may be able to glean one or two things if you tried," John said, leaning down to kiss him.

Then Sherlock was surprised to find himself pinned down under John's (_military, swift, strong_) body.

"Now, my dear Sherlock," John said, sounding smug (which _was_ his area of expertise), "you just lie back and think of science."

-30-


End file.
